"Oh, only a very, very little time. And I never thought it was true. I am
not an old woman, and I am not fit to die; and I'm poor. Oh, if I were
rich, I would bribe you to give me something to keep me alive. Won't you
do it for pity?--won't you do it for pity? When you are as bad as I am,
oh, you will perhaps call for some one to help you, and find nobody, like
me."

"I will help you for love," said the little Pilgrim; "some one who loves
you has sent me."

The woman lifted herself up a little and shook her head. "There is nobody
that loves me." Then she cast her eyes round her and began to tremble
again (for the touch of the little Pilgrim had stilled her). "Oh, where
am I?" she said. "They have taken me away; they have brought me to a
strange place; and you are new. Oh, where have they taken me?--where am
I?--where am I?" she cried. "Have they brought me here to die?"

Then the little Pilgrim bent over her and soothed her. "You must not be
so much afraid of dying; that is all over. You need not fear that any
more," she said softly; "for here where you now are we have all died."

The woman started up out of her arms, and then she gave a great shriek
that made the air ring, and cried out, "Dead! am I dead?" with a shudder
and convulsion, throwing herself again wildly with outstretched hands
upon the ground.

This was a great and terrible work for the little Pilgrim--the first she
had ever had to do--and her heart failed her for a moment; but afterward
she remembered our Brother who sent her, and knew what was best. She drew